


The Dark's Reach

by vailkagami



Series: Within the Dissolve [2]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Gen, the abyss - Freeform, the kings might as well be OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12550996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: New Londo is threatened more and more by the Abyss, and there's only so much Artorias can do.Set beforeNightfall, can stand alone.





	The Dark's Reach

The lords of Lordran were few in numbers compared to the innumerable humans. They rarely died and it was rare for new ones to be born. Age did not touch them the way it did other mortals and they lived, baring violence and illness, potentially forever.

Even so, few were the numbers of those who had lived through the war against the dragons from beginning to end; too many had fallen victims to their fire and claws. Artorias remembered the end of the conflict, the final few battles, but had been too young to fight where stronger warriors had fallen. By the time he was tall enough to wield a sword in a way that was beneficial rather than a danger to those around him, the last dragon breathing fire at their cities had been shot out of the sky by Hawkeye Gough's giant bow.

The event had created two classes of warriors in Lordran; those who had fought the dragons, and those who had not. The end of the last battle had locked younger warriors out of that prestigious group forever, had fated them to be something less than their elders in the eyes of the land. Many resented this; some traveled the world looking for dragons that may have survived hidden away so that tales of their glory may earn them a spot among the knights of Anor Londo and within the hearts of men; others strove to level the field by eliminating those knights eternally elevated above them. The attempt has been short lived and ill fated. It was the first revolt against Lord Gwyn and his rule, back in a time when such a thing was nearly inconceivable. Born from jealousy and ambition, and orchestrated in secret by those who preyed on the jealousy and ambition of others. While rumors circulated in that time and unrest grew among the lower ranks, the higher ones felt too secure in their position and accomplishments to see any threat, and the ones holding the strings behind the curtain were smart to not let themselves and their motivations be known.

To this day, there were those who did not believe this conflict had been based on anything other than the envy of those knights that fell in it. Artorias, for his part, believed that many who had been in control of that envy had gone undiscovered and continued to work close to Gwyn and the knights who had proved themselves to be worthy of his trust. Too readily had the conspirators been found, and those not genuinely following such a simple motivation had all conveniently taken their own lives rather than to give away their cause. Too ready had they been to partner with the usually detested humans aiming to topple the rule of the lords so that those humans and their presumed pettiness would be blamed and their defeat would be considered the end of the matter.

His belief was shared by many, but all it had resulted in was the spurning of those suspected of having been part of the failed coup – accusations all too often based on naught but personal resentments rather than any proof, and harmful more than anything else.

Artorias himself had been caught in the conflict early on, before anyone truly understood what was coming. Being a lesser knight with no ambition for rank and a history of declining more prestigious positions, yet believed to be unusually trusted by and influential over Lord Gwyn's most faithful knights and even Lord Gwyn himself, he had arisen the interest of one side and the suspicion of the other and his body still bore the scars of captivity and torture.

He was not the only one. Gwyn's trusted friend and adviser Havel, known as The Rock for his impenetrable stone armor and great strength, had nearly fallen to an assassination attempt simply because he was human and therefore believed to be treacherous by nature. Others had fallen, or disappeared and never been found, their reputation forever tarnished by the suspicion that they had fled as allies of the conspirators rather than been removed as their victims.

Whatever the true motivations behind them, the events had long lasting consequences. There was a shift in the structure of the knights of Lordran. Murder, injuries and disillusion had cleared positions long held by veterans of the war, positions that now were filled by younger knights who had proven loyal through the crisis. (And some speculated that this had been the goal all along and that none of the new commanders in fact deserved the trust invested in them.) Gwyn established a small group of knights to act as his personal guard and as extension of his reach, being unable to be everywhere, take care of everything at once. Artorias was appointed to this group along with Dragon Slayer Ornstein and Hawkeye Gough, and for once he had found himself unable to decline the offer.

Lord Gwyn had shown a surprising amount of understanding for his concerns, but had presented arguments of his own that Artorias could not ignore. It was important to have someone in this position who had not fought in the war, to show that every knight was treated equally and had the same chances, deserved the same respect. But it was also important that the knight in question was already renowned and recognized for his accomplishments, so no one could make the claim that his appointment was only due to the pressure put on Gwyn by recent events. It would be seen as a sign of weakness. And no young knight had a better reputation than Artorias at that point.

If Artorias had been to decline, people would have thought that it was all for show and that he had never been meant to hold the position in the first place. To make matters worse, Gwyn had called his new personal knights to duty in front of the public, and saying no would have been an affront their Lord would have not been able to let go unpunished. No doubt he had relied on Artorias being aware of this.

So it had been with aching scars and inner turmoil that Artorias had knelt before their Lord that day, beside Ornstein, where his place was to be from now on and forever – or until he fell out of favor. He had been well aware of the immense honor bestowed upon him, and a part of him had been awed by the fact that he was even considered for it before so many deserving warriors of their land. More than anything, however, he had felt the weight of the duty he was to take on like a loss of freedom. No longer would he be able to choose his own battles, and too many people, he felt, would be left helpless in his absence.

An agreement had been reached with his Lord shortly after, when Gwyn allowed him to continue as before unless urgent matters called him to Anor Londo, yet Artorias had felt like the Lord of Sunlight was all too aware of the shackles he had placed upon him and was merely lengthening the chains.

It was not long after this that Ciaran joined their ranks, the leader of the assassins known as the Lord's Blades and a logical choice due to her position, accomplishments, and the knowledge gathered through her spies. Yet there were voices who resented the inclusion of a knight who had not only come of age after the fall of the dragon but was also female, as many believed women had no place among the mighty and that a blade held in female hands was worth less than a blade held by a man. (They often changed their minds, as it was, once said blade held by female hands became a blade held against their throats.)

Artorias had been well acquainted with the assassin who was small compared to him and Ornstein, not to speak of Gough, and could easily walk among humans unnoticed. He approved of her appointment and did not fault her her pride, for he knew that she had worked hard for this recognition and would find her fulfillment in meeting the expectations placed upon her.

For all his wariness of the status he held, Artorias was well aware that he was blessed to fight alongside such honorable heroes and serve a lord he loved and respected despite their differing priorities. And with the means now at his disposal he could serve the people of their land in ways he had not been able before. Even those he had protected before; the towns in the dry lands or just on their side of the border, that were too far away to be of import or to call for help in time should the need arise. The human settlements, the poor villages that produced nothing of value and were of no concern to those in power. And the creatures that were neither lord, nor giant, nor human, but had a soul none the less and were deserving of their protection and their respect, so often withheld.

He now had the option to send soldiers where they were needed – even if just the few that weren't needed elsewhere. When he was called to the capital, he could, if he thought it necessary, send others to take his place. It was one of the concessions Gwyn had granted him in exchange for following his call. But the beasts of the forest where not a task anyone wanted to take on, and not something Artorias could leave to anyone else. Too little understanding was found on both sides, even with the creatures that spoke a human tongue, and the risk of bloodshed was too high.

Gwyn, though tolerant of Artorias' perceived eccentrics, did not see any value in the great felines, the crows, or the mushroom folk, and thought his association with them a waste of time. He allowed it, however, humoring his knight by letting him work with these creatures Artorias had learned to respect long ago, and he allowed Sif to stay by his side even in the cathedral.

The first thing Artorias did with his new privileges after he gained them was to go to the blacksmith of the giant people, a friend of Gough's, and have him forge a sword that was much like his own for Sif, who had been a loyal companion since they met not long ago. The blacksmith, though not a friend of words, had laughed at this small act of defiance, and submitted what Artorias thought was his greatest work so far.

In the years that had passed since, Sif had grown slowly but steadily from the size of an ordinary wolf to the size of an ordinary pony, and the sword, Artorias had been impressed to discover, had grown with her, always being the perfect size for her to wield in her maw. There was no telling how large she would become in the end; her mother had towered over Artorias when they met that day, but creatures like the great gray wolves followed no rules or patterns when it came to size. Or age. Like Artorias himself, Sif could live for many centuries, until the world returned to dark for good.

They had already spend so many years together. While Sif had been playing the first time she had picked up the sword of a fallen hunter and imitated Artorias' fighting stance, she now wielded her own weapon with strength and skill and rarely went anywhere without it. She was holding it now, the weight not bothering her in the least, though Artorias would have to take it and put it away before they reached their destination, as openly carrying weapons was not allowed inside the palace of New Londo.

The city had been the first place founded by those who had found no place for themselves inside the confined walls of Anor Londo, its name speaking of the aspirations to create a place matching in glory, and yet they had chosen to build their home in eternal shadow, underneath Sen's Fortress, underneath, even, the Royal Woods and the township of Oolacile. Little light reached this place where Anor Londo was bathed in it at all times, the power of their Lord making it so that the sun never set on his city. Down here, few rays of light reached the ground through the few openings in the rock high above and through the mouth of the cave leading into the valley that once served as a breeding ground of lesser dragons, now long driven away or dead. And yet there was a beauty to this place, a way in which the sparse light reflected was on the water of the channels and the basins below and seemed all the more precious and glorious for its absence everywhere else.

While the city had been founded by lords, it had soon allowed humans to reside inside its walls; a thing unthinkable in glorious Anor Londo. By now, the human population outnumbered the lords, whose numbers barely ever grew. When Artorias had first visited this city, that had replaced the shelter of divine magic and eternal sunshine with sturdy walls and a sky made of stone, the bustle of life in the streets had been surprising and almost pleasant. There had been something peaceful and serene about this place that was now gone. There were still people in the streets below the bridge he and Sif were crossing, but few, and he heard barely any voices. The fear that filled New Londo these days was evident, and the shadows that filled the cave seemed much darker than before.

Those who were out in the streets where there because they had to be. No one left the house unless necessity forced them to. Yet hardly anyone had left the city. It seemed that as dire the situation was, most of the inhabitants believed that it would go away in the end; few were willing to give up their home over it. Artorias hoped their faith and persistence would pay out. It was hard, without precedence, to truly assess the danger that they all were in, but he feared that it was much greater than any of them was willing to acknowledge.

With no one else willing and able to help, all their hopes rested on him and Sif. It was not so much humbling as it was frightening. Artorias was well aware what was at stake. If they failed, these people would be fortunate if they only lost their lives.

He heard louder voices as someone down on the street spotted him. Standing much taller than most of the people of this city it was impossible for him to go unnoticed, and his armor, not to mention the big wolf at his side, made him easily recognizable. Artorias pretended not to notice, not comfortable with the relief that his presence brought, as if it was a given that he would fend off the threat hanging over them.

The gates of the palace opened for them, mere moments after Artorias had taken Sif's sword and fastened it next to his own. Sif growled softly in petulant protest. It was a reaction that amused him under different circumstances. Sometimes he wondered if the wolf remembered that she actually had teeth that were a fairly effective weapon on their own.

The guards left and right of the entrance bowed in greeting and Artorias returned the gesture. Sif did not, as no one expected her to be aware of customs and she could get away with it. No one asked for their weapons, as another would have been. A Knight of Gwyn was not expected to be weaponless in any court in Lordran, not even Gwyn's own. With the situation in New Londo being what it was, Artorias would have had to refuse the request had it been made.

As much as New Londo was the opposite of Anor Londo in many aspects, the palace felt in its straightforward structure much like the cathedral that housed the court of the Lord of Sunlight. Artorias had been here many times before and knew his way around, but even had this been his first visit, the throne room would have been easy to find at the end of the long, generous hall lined with guards. Once he reached it, however, he was informed by one of the kings' advisers, a disgruntled looking human with an expression of displeasure etched into his face, that his sovereigns would meet Artorias in the reading room of the archive this time.

This could mean that there was something in the archives that he needed to see, or that they wanted to talk to him in a place where they could not be overheard. There were few secrets to be disclosed here, so the most likely reason for secrecy was that the kings did not want what they had to say to inspire fear or inappropriate optimism in the hearts of those who might hear it.

The royal archives were down a long set of stairs, far below street level. They were much smaller than the archives of Duke Seath that barely anyone ever saw, and even smaller than the library in the cathedral, but they still contained an impressive amount of books and knowledge, and five librarians were in charge of organizing it and guiding anyone authorized to be there to whatever they were seeking, as finding anything without help would require hours, if not days of searching.

The reading room contained a large oval table with papers strewn all over it. A map of the city was spread over the far end, on top of what appeared to be a map of the land. Handwritten notes and crude drawings where placed around it. The rest of the surface was filled with stacks of books and scrolls, many of them opened. Some looked like they had been here for a very long time.

The kings of New Londo were bent over the maps and papers when Artorias and Sif entered, and the knight was surprised to see all four of them. One of the reason why the rule of this city was spread over four people rather than resting in the hands of one was for them to be everywhere at once, always available to take care of anything that might come up. They shared a fragment of the Lord Soul Gwyn had given them for this purpose, so each of them knew what they others had learned and no crucial information was ever lost in the sharing, no task could only be done by one one man because no other excelled in it or had the expertise required. All of them in the same place contradicted their purpose.

Artorias bowed and took off his helmet and hood, as custom demanded of him as a guest in times of peace. Sif did nothing except take in her surroundings. She had been to the palace before as well, but this room was new to her, being the reading and writing room reserved for the kings and closed to all but their personally invited guests due to the sensitive documents that it held. For Artorias it was only the second time. The room hadn't changed much. The mess was the same; only the nature of the books lying around appeared to have changed.

Every single of the kings was wearing an identical crown. Their clothes were similar. All of them wore their hair long, in elaborate braids hanging down their backs. Their faces were very different. Nreoe was a good head's length shorter than Artorias and his face was wrinkled in a way that suggested age but was meaningless to their kind. Ballant and Fant were as tall as him, and Gendiran was towering over them with a physique almost as gangly as Artorias' own. There was the barest shadow of a beard on Fant's cheeks, but he never grew it out despite the fact that Lord Gwyn had turned it into a widely recognized symbol of power and knowledge, not unlike the humans' recognition of the wisdom of age. Few lords were able to grow a beard, however, and it would distinguish him too much from his partners. The Four Kings would not suffer a leader that was respected above the others for something as trite as his appearance.

From what Artorias had seen on the occasions he was here, however, the people of New Londo and the surrounding towns tended to turn to Nreoe before any of the others, because most of them were human and he looked his age more than the others did. It was an instinct that Artorias knew and accepted but did not entirely understand. In better times it tended to amuse him when humans dismissed his input based on his youthful appearance and young sounding voice; the oldest human he had ever met was still younger than the youngest lord he knew.

Age had a different meaning to the short lived humans. It became irritating when other lords fell into the same way of thinking simply because they had a beard and he did not. Yet the only time he had ever felt the need to speak up was when dismissive comments had been made about Lord Gwyndolin for his feminine appearance and moon magic, and about Ciaran for being female.

Gwyndolin was rarely seen in public, even after his older brother had been banished and his name and accomplishments erased from history. Ciaran always wore a mask that did not hide her gender but made it impossible to read her face and judge her willingness to put her blades to use. In more bitter times, even Artorias kept his face hidden by his hood. He spoke little on official occasions.

He waited now, in silence, until he was beckoned closer. “Knight Artorias,” Fant said in a voice that was gentle yet firm and almost femininely high. “Thank you for coming with such haste, for the situation is dire indeed.”

“My Lords,” Artorias bowed his head and caught a glance of the papers on the table. “Please explain at once. I have come across few people on the way here, and fewer yet who did not appear frightened.”

“Indeed, everyone is afraid these days. Dark servants have made it into the city but a fortnight ago and taken many. Our blades could barely scratch their hide. They are gone now and have not been seen since, but no one can say if and when they will be back from whence they came.”

That was worrisome indeed. Servants of the Dark had been spied all over the lower levels of the land, but their presence was particularly felt around New Londo, so that there had been reason to believe their nest to be nearby. Artorias and Sif had eventually found it, in a cave half a day's walk from the walls of the city, and had ventured inside while the two human women that had told them about men from their village going here and never coming back had stayed outside, refusing, much to Artorias' relief, to set foot inside the darkness that was much blacker than even the mouth of a cave had any right to be.

According to the villagers, the cave had been a place where their children played, and in summer it was a place where they stored part of their harvest. It had changed but weeks ago and now most were scared to go anywhere near it. Others were inexplicably draw to the cave and disappeared in the dark, never to be seen again. The women had spoken of people like evil specters that were seen near the cave and called them Darkwraiths, but no one able to speak of it had ever gotten close enough to see if they matched the description of the fiends that had stalked New Londo.

Artorias had told Sif to stay outside with the women, and his companion had reluctantly complied. She didn't want to go into this darkness that repelled every single of her instincts, but she hadn't wanted Artorias to go either. Getting her to let him venture forth had been more difficult than making her stay behind.

Artorias had fought those called Darkwaiths before; his sword, blessed by Princess Gwynevere herself, had proved an effective weapon against them, and so he was prepared and won swiftly when he encountered one of them just meters into the narrow cave; just out of the reach of sunlight falling in, watching them. He found one more emerging from the dark but a minute later and again emerged victorious, though it did surprise him, utterly invisible as it had been until it moved. The foes had been no threat to him – it was the place itself that told him he shouldn't be here, as if the cold air were a warning every fiber of his being wanted to heed.

  


Dark, oily substance coated the walls, more thickly the deeper inside he went. It seemed to not only swallow all light but to actively emit dark, and Artorias found himself appalled by it on an instinctual level that told him this was wrong, that this was not a place for him. Later he learned that the humans of the area were equally appalled, but also strangely drawn to it. To them, this terrifying nothing had an allure that Artorias did not share and could not fathom, but that did not surprise him. This was the Abyss mentioned in the old scripture, of that he was certain, and there was a connection between this all-consuming dark and the humanity carried by man.

That day, he ventured as deep down the tunnel as he could bear but had to turn around before his search could turn up anything of use. The substance coating the rocks grew thick to the point where it seemed to erase the stone from existence and Artorias felt it drain the very life out of him; in some fashion he knew that one step more and he would be consumed, and he felt this Dark tug on dark things inside him that he hadn't been aware existed and that did not feel like part of his being and maybe weren't. It was only later, upon talking to elders who, like Lord Gwyn, remembered the Age of the Ancients and the birth of the First Flame, that he learned that the Abyss was poison to every single soul on this world and eradicated all those who touched it.

One step more, it seemed, and he would indeed have been swallowed. It was pure instinct, and the lack of humanity that made him deaf to the call of the Dark, that had saved him.

Since then, he had come to suspect that this lack of humanity was also what kept him from fighting the Abyss more effectively. He had no way of interacting with it the way the humans could, who were drawn to it my their very nature; and even as it killed them as easily as it would kill him, it seemed to mold itself to them as well, reacting to their actions rather than just being there, greedy and consuming.

Artorias had encountered it many times since but had never truly been able to touch it, being limited instead to fighting its servants and so only fighting the threat on the surface. He and Sif were alone in their battle – no other knight had ever been send by Gwyn to take care of this, but the fact that the lone herald of the capital send to fight for them was Knight Artorias pacified the people of New Londo and made them feel like they were in good hands, even though it should not.

Artorias was doing all he could for them and he would continue to do so until be breathed his last or the Abyss was defeated, but he feared that due to the limitation of his nature and the overwhelming power of what they fought, his and Sif's efforts would be for naught. He had been chosen by Lord Gwyn because instinct had made him survive his first encounter with the Abyss, and because his weapon was strong against the Darkwraiths and he knew how to wield it, but while Artorias acknowledged the honor of being entrusted with a mission like this, the same instincts wanted to be as far from the Abyss as possible and never go anywhere near it again. Even then, the idea of feeling that Darkness reach for his soul had filled him with near-paralyzing dread.

He had walked the edge of the Abyss many times since, and every time it even so much as brushed past his soul he felt like it had torn a part of him away to replace it with a Darkness that was not his own. It felt like an invasion.

Sometimes he felt like he might lose himself to it and the horror of that notion was too deep and personal to put into words. It was also irrelevant. Artorias had been given an order, and he had sworn long before he entered the service of Lord Gwyn as one of his four knights to protect those that could not protect themselves. He would try to fulfill this mission no matter how hopeless it often seemed because if he did not, no one would and the likely fate of all those who relied on him would become certain.

They had dealt with the gate to the Abyss in that cave by collapsing it with explosives and magic in the end. It had not taken out the enemy but it had kept them from doing any more harm. Even then Artorias had felt that this was a very short-lived solution, and he had soon been proven right when Darkwaiths had been spotted again.

He would have preferred to go all the way down that cave, no matter how horrifying it was, and take out the problem at its root. Alas, that had been impossible then, and it would be now. The battle against the Abyss would always be a defensive one of small victories.

He could already see how with time things would only get worse.

“You believe the Abyss had opened again nearer to New Londo,” he guessed.

“Perhaps even _inside_ New Londo,” Nreoe confirmed. “The Servants appeared so quickly, yet no soul who was left afterward saw them come or go. They seemed to melt into the shadows, and fear is great that they will be back at any time.”

It was easy to imagine the scene. While the Darkwraiths where not pure black in their attire, the light seemed to never touch them, making it easy for them to disappear into the shadows and appear from almost nowhere. Many times, only Sif's sense of smell had saved them from an ambush, and even the wolf had trouble detecting them. So the quick coming and going of the creatures was no true indication as to where they came from, but the idea of the Abyss connecting to New Londo directly was worrisome none the less.

Also, there was the question why the Servants of the Abyss appeared so interested in New Londo. There had been no sightings anywhere else – no confirmed ones, in any case. The general consent was that it was simply located near this cave where the kings had decided to plant their city into the protection of the rock and open it to lords and humans alike long ago, but Artorias was not so certain. The way he understood it – the way it _felt_ whenever he came near it – the Abyss had no clear location in this world but was everywhere and nowhere at one, under the fragile surface of what they could see. If that was true, then it could emerge anywhere. Was it coincidence that it appeared here? Or was there a reason for it that they could not yet perceive? Did the Abyss itself have a will, or was it merely a source of power for its lackeys?

Artorias believed it was the first, but he did not believe that this will was something their minds could possibly grasps.

Were the servants of the Abyss even aware they were servants? Had they entered into this dark covenant willingly, seduced by the promise of power, or had contact with the Dark twisted them into things no longer masters of their own fate?

He had never been able to ask any of the Darkwraiths he had fought as they never left him the chance of leaving them alive. Their actions, the way they moved, spoke of determination and intelligence, however, and while he always felt that they were able to communicate and coordinate without spoken words, much like the kings before him could, he had sensed individuality in it.

“Has there been any attempt made on your persons, my Lords?” he asked, looking at the kings at the other end of the table.

They looked at each other. The silence was a little too long to be natural, and Artorias was reminded that despite everything, they were individual people who had individual views, even if they were immediately shared with three others. “No,” Gendiran replied, presumably for all of them. “None of them has come even close, nor do they appear to have any interest in the palace so far. Is there a reason for you to ask?”

“I am merely concerned for your safety,” Artorias replied. “There must be something here that they want.”

“I am not convinced that is the case,” Ballant argued. “They may be like the water that rises with the rain, destructive but without purpose.”

“Let us hope that is the case,” Gendiran added, indicating a different view. Again there was a moment of silence, then Fant and Ballant claimed other duties and left, while Gendiran and Nreoe went on to show Artorias on the map exactly where the Darkwraiths had shown up and where they had last been seen. They told him of the losses suffered among soldiers and civilians alike. Altogether, the numbers weren't as high as Artorias had feared, but he worried that they could have done much worse and for some reason chose not to, and that that reason had nothing to do with compassion.

  


-

  


Nreoe was the last to leave the reading room. Gendiran had left the moment Knight Artorias did, accompanying him and the wolf to the gate while asking him to report back the moment he had finished with his investigation of the incident, whether he found anything of use or not, as there might be other things they needed his service for. An order disguised as a request. By law, the kings of New Londo had no power over a personal knight of Lord Gwyn, but it was understood by all that the Lord of Sunlight supported every decision made by the kings he had entrusted with part of his lord soul and would not tolerate any defiance of their orders.

Not that Knight Artorias had any reason not to support them. However, not all things the kings needed him for were directly related to the Abyss and Nreoe, for his part, was trying to discourage the others from making demands that crossed a line. They had once been rewarded for their wisdom and foresight, but after an age of ruling over a stagnant city state with no room to grow and feeling their power fade as the First Flame grew weaker, he feared that new aspirations might make their way into the hearts of men to whom this life they had lived for millenia no longer held any promises.

His own heart, as well. A part of him was excited about the Abyss that never came close enough to their house of power to be any threat but made them feel powerful again, like rulers and protectors rather than people who sat on a throne. Exercising control over the one warrior in the land who could help was part of that. It seemed so harmless, but Nreoe feared where it might lead.

He was never certain, anymore, which of the doubts and desires he felt were his own.

He felt the desire most strongly from Fant, however – this need to take some sort of glory away from this, and make it go on. They should care about their subjects first, the ones suffering from the attacks. But those were aimed at the human population more than the ancient Lords, and none of those were truly important enough that they could not be replaced by other humans that time would provide. Nreoe was aware that this was not his thought. He was worried when he discovered it was not Fant's either.

His fingers stroked over the thick leather cover of a book on top of a stack on the table, lingering there. It was the diary of a man long gone, who had been there from the beginning of this age and held in his memory the forming of the world as it was now. He spoke of the Abyss in his record, though he did not name it so. He spoke of the power it offered to those humans, those descendants of the furtive pigmy who accepted it, the power over other humans, over death, and how it made them untouchable. He spoke of it with dread.

Artorias had asked for access to their private library and the historical accounts that might hold mention of the Abyss, to learn what to expect from it and maybe find a way to fight it, and they had granted it. After a moment's hesitation, Nreoe took the book off the stack and hid it inside a fold of his tunic as he walked from the room.

  



End file.
